The scars left behind
It had only been a day since Blake had returned home from leave. He was home alone except for his daughter, who was taking a nap in her room while he sat at the dinner table. His favorite bottle of Jägermeister, Winterkräuter, sat on the table near him. In front of him was the dismantled pieces of the pistol he had bought a few years ago so that his wife could use for protection while he was away. It was dismantled piece by piece so that he could clean every single bit of it. He picked up the iron sights and looked down them before he felt the cold air from the A/C brush against his back; suddenly he found himself staring down the sight of an SRS99C-AM S2 sniper rifle aiming at a young man no older than seventeen. He remembered that day on the winter colony of Galvnaya where it was him against a hundred rebels at the frozen riverbank near the forest. He could feel the cold that covered his body once more as it sent chills down his spine as if he was there hiding in the snow, his enemies unknown of his presence. Suddenly the sound of a sniper rifle rang in his ears, and he saw the poor young man die right before his eyes as the back of his head became nothing but chunks and bits of brain, skin, and blood. Blake quickly snapped back to reality as he dropped the iron sights of the pistol onto the table and grabbed his alcoholic beverage taking a long sip from the already opened bottle to forget the memory of snuffing out the life of a teenager. He slammed the bottle down onto the table and continued to focus on cleaning the pistol trying his best not to think about what he had done. He took a sharp, deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, regaining his control. Once he was finished cleaning the iron sights, he went onto the grip of the pistol. He picked up the part and gripped it tightly; another flash erupted in his mind this time he could remember standing in the middle of a war-torn street armed only with an M6C magnum while his body ached in pain all over. He could see a covenant patrol of grunts approaching him, with both hatred and hunger in their eyes, ready to tear him apart limb from limb. He raised the magnum and fired blindly at the group, only wounding one while the rest continued their approach Blake soon fell to his knees and closed his eyes, only to open them again and find himself still sitting at the table. The grip of the pistol laying on the ground he reached down to pick it up and slam it back on the table. Blake then grabbed the bottle once again, taking a long sip from the bottle nearly chugging it. He put it down gently this time and looked at his arms and chest seeing the scars and burns that covered them from his years of service of standing on the front lines facing the enemies of the United Earth Government countless times. It amazed him how war could leave such mental wounds on a person that could quite possibly never heal, how it could break even a Spartan to the point of a near emotional breakdown when the thoughts would overflow the mind. He began wondering if joining the military was a mistake if putting himself through so much hell was worth the price of the mental issues. He put his left hand to his head and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and think of other things only to hear the echoes of past battles play in his thoughts, the sounds of gunfire played on repeat while he could listen to multiple officers shouting different orders all at once. It was so hard to clear his mind when all he heard was silence. It was his enemy, and he could not stand it when he was not focused on anything to help ignore the sounds and memories. His heart began to pound rapidly in his chest like a machine gun, and his breathing turned into hyperventilation, his teeth gritted together as he grabbed at his hair. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.” He repeated under his breath, his grip growing tighter as his tone slowly rose until finally, he snapped. Screaming at the top of his lungs and once he had let go of his hair, he threw his left fist into the bottle of Winterkräuter at full force. Shattering it into pieces and causing pieces of it to either cut his hand or go flying all over the table and floor, the remaining liquid that was in the bottle covered the table while some of it was dripping onto the floor, Blake looked at his hand as it blood began to leak out from the cuts. Suddenly he heard a young girl behind him. “Papa?” She said quietly, as Blake turned to see his daughter, Ada, standing there in the dining room, holding her stuffed rabbit in her arms her face showed that she was scared. “Oh god,” Blake muttered under his breath as he realized she had seen him lash out in anger. “Ada? Are you okay?” he asked her in a soft tone, only for her to respond by shaking her head her eyes staring back at him in fear. He stood up and walked away from the table and headed towards her, which caused Ada to hide behind her stuffed rabbit as he got closer. She looked up at the giant that was her father approaching her until finally as he reached her, he sat down and leaned on the wall, patting his lap for her to come and sit down, to which she did and made herself comfortable as best as she could, not saying anything about the bleeding hand. “I want you to know something honey,” Blake told her in the same tone as before. “Daddy isn’t in the best condition.” “But aren’t you like a superhero? ” She asked him as Blake cracked a smirk and let out a quiet chuckle using his right hand to rub her head. “Sort of, but Daddy has some bad memories that won’t leave him alone. And he can't stop thinking about them.” He said trying his best to explain to her what was wrong with him. “Can’t you stop thinking about them? That’s what I do.” Ada responded looking up at him. “I wish I could sweetie, I wish I could, but it just doesn’t work the way you think it does. The best way to explain this is that daddy’s just sick.” He looked away from Ada so that she didn’t have to see the look of sorrow that had formed on his face, he closed his eyes and tried to pull himself together so that he could be strong for his daughter. Suddenly he felt her small arms wrap around his waist; he opened his eyes to see the sight of his daughter hugging him. “I’ll help you get better papa. Superheroes can’t be sick.” She said as the sorrow that Blake felt turned to a sense of peace and happiness, the haunting memories he had felt were not there anymore when she hugged him. He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her back. Enjoying every second of the moment the two shared. He could not hear the sounds anymore, all he felt was the warmth of his daughter refusing to let go of him. Category: The Weekly